


Call the Police and the Fireman

by TheBrightestNight



Series: Spice Up Your Life [2]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Crack, Don't copy to another site, Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:42:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24412240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBrightestNight/pseuds/TheBrightestNight
Summary: Alt. click-bait title:Spice Invaders! | Basira likes her food hotter than the sun. Elias decides to hold a potluck. These two statements are unrelated.Or are they?
Series: Spice Up Your Life [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1762909
Comments: 10
Kudos: 81





	Call the Police and the Fireman

**Author's Note:**

> Bless [justletmeremember](https://justletmeremember.tumblr.com/) for getting my creative juices flowing. They're the real MVP.
> 
> A continuation/part ii to other one-shot I wrote titled, Too Hot (Hot Damn). As you can see, part of a series. I _highly_ recommend you go read that one before you read this one. Yes, shameless self-promo, but this references the one-shot as well. It's also hilarious, if I do say so myself.
> 
> **This one-shot does contain spoilers from S2, onward.**

Despite the…extenuating circumstances under which Basira, Daisy, and Melanie joined the Archives, after a while, things carried on fairly normally. Fairly.

Things were tense for a while. They weren't exactly _friends_.

It wasn't until Basira brought in a lunch from home did that change. It was in one of those soup containers used for travel. She was sat at one of the desks in the open office space in the archives for lunch, one of the books splayed open so she could read and eat.

Jon passed by with his own food a little while later, which he'd heated up in the microwave, but glanced at Basira's food as he did so, and froze, debating if he should say something or not. Daisy wasn't around, though she wasn't around a lot these days. Off running errands for Elias. Jon only worried because it was common knowledge to everyone who worked in the archives that Daisy didn't exactly like him. He just didn't want her to yell at him for talking to Basira.

He'd stood there, thinking so long, that Basira noticed and looked up for her book.

"Did you need something, Jon?" she asked. Wordlessly, embarrassed to have been caught, Jon pointed to her food. "Nihari. Leftovers."

Jon held out his own food for her to see, an eagerness in his eyes Basira hadn't seen before. "Biryani," he said.

* * *

When Tim and Martin came back with their own lunches to see Jon and Basira chatting away in the common office space, they both froze and exchanged incredulous glances with each other.

"Is that Jon?" Tim asked. "Being social?"

Martin rolled his eyes. "He _can_ be social, Tim."

"Yeah, he just chooses not to be," Tim muttered.

"Basira's food looks good," Martin mumbled, changing subjects, not wanting to get into all _that_ right at the moment. He looked over at Tim, "Think she'd let us have a taste?"

"If she's talking with Jon, it's probably as heavily spiced as his food," Tim answered, nerves sneaking into his tone.

Martin grinned. "I dare you to try it, then."

"What?" Tim asked, his voice an octave higher.

"Look, if you're too _scared_ —"

"I am not!" Tim exclaimed before beginning to march over to where Jon and Basiar sat. Martin followed, snickering quietly. Half-way there, though, Tim spun to face Martin, nearly tripping him up it had been so abrupt.

"I'll try it," Tim said, "but you have to try it after me."

Martin's swallowed, his face paling, flashbacks to when he'd tried Jon's food flooding his mind. His hand that was holding the bag that contained his grilled sandwich, involuntarily curled into a fist.

"Not so brave now, are we, Martin?" Tim asked, smiling triumphantly.

"Fine." Martin held his hand out. Tim took it and they shook as Martin said, "You're on."

Together they marched over to Jon and Basira. Jon sat back, a small smile playing at his lips as Tim asked to try some of Basira's food. Basira and Jon, of course, had already shared while Martin and Tim were out, so Jon was _fully_ aware what Tim and Martin were about to get themselves into, and he was secretly living for it.

It was a good thing Jon had started buying those party packs of plastic spoons and forks after the first time Martin had come to his office, asking for a bite of his food. It was also good that Martin continued to stuff the fridge down there with milk.

Basira could tell something was up by the way Jon was acting but it wasn't really the time to ask. And she had a feeling that, even if she asked, Jon wouldn't tell her.

It wasn't until Tim took a bite of her food did she understand.

Tim managed to swallow but he coughed right afterward. His face turned red.

"It's worse," he choked out, panting and fanning his tongue. "How is it _more_ spicy?" He looked at Basira with awe and fear before he sprinted over to the minifridge and pulled out one of the many cartons of milk.

Basira turned to Jon, who had a mouth covering his hand as he tried to hold in his laughter, and said, "I was wondering what all that milk was for."

Jon shrugged and tried to swallow the rest of his laughter before answering her, "It's their hubris. They can't resist eating the food. But they can't handle it, either." A snicker escaped his lips as he finished speaking and he quickly put his hand to his mouth again, trying not to burst out laughing.

Thankfully, Tim joined them again, taking attention away from Jon. Tim still had his carton in hand. He slapped Martin on the shoulder with his free hand, who'd been silently watching Jon and Basira's exchange, with a look of absolute regret on his face.

"You're up, buttercup," Tim said before taking another swig of milk.

Martin swallowed hard. "Right." Basira held out a spoon for him, trying to hide a smile, but he held up his hand before leisurely making his way over to the fridge and grabbing a new carton out of it, then leisurely making his way back to the others. _Then_ he took the spoon and slowly dipped it into Basira's soup container.

He blew on the spoon to stall before gingerly putting it in his mouth. Like last time, the heat wasn't immediate to him. But when it hit him, it was like getting punched in the throat. Only, _somehow_ , it was 1000 times worse than last time. Tim had been right. Basira just ate lava, as far as Martin was concerned.

Martin couldn't help the small coughs as he opened up the carton he was holding and began downing the whole thing.

Jon lowered his head into his hand, trying hard to hide his smile. His shoulders shook with silent laughter. Basira, too, had her hand over her mouth, eyes sparkling with amusement, as she watched Martin and Tim drink their milk, with expressions of suffering etched on their faces.

* * *

Melanie was the only one who hadn't been indoctrinated. (Daisy had been Basira's partner for so long, and couldn't cook to save her life, so she was just as immune to spice as Basira was, since Basira was Daisy's main source of good food.) And Tim and Martin had conspired all week on how they'd convince her to try some of Basira's food. She didn't often return to the Institute during her lunch breaks, wanting to get away from the archives as much as she could for as long as she could.

"You should really come hang out with us," Martin insisted. He, Melanie, and Tim were currently waiting for their sandwiches they'd ordered from a café near the Institute.

"What, in the archives?" Melanie asked. "Don't you guys want time _away_ from that place?"

Tim snorted. "Well, sure," he said, "but lunch with everyone…actually makes me feel…normal. Sometimes."

"Everyone?" Melanie asked, suspicious.

"Even Jon," Martin confirmed. "Daisy will join us occasionally, too." He paused. "When she's not…you know, out running errands for…"

"For Elias." Melanie finished, her tone darkening.

"Well, try it just this once," Tim suggested. "If you hate it, you don't have to do it again."

Melanie thought about it for a moment. "Why do I feel like you guys have an ulterior motive. You haven't invited me to join you for lunch before. Why now?"

Tim and Martin exchanged a glance, quickly and silently agreeing to tell her the truth. There was no point in hiding it. It'd only make her more suspicious and less trusting of them.

"Jon and Basira bring in their own lunches a lot," Martin started in a careful tone. "And they're usually pretty heavily spiced. Like spicy, heavily spiced. It's…sort of, like, a tradition? I guess? For us to try their food." Martin shrugged.

Melanie looked to Tim for confirmation and he nodded before, "That about sums it up, yeah."

"So you're luring me back into the archives," Melanie started, "to try some spicy food?"

Martin shrugged. "Look, if you can't handle it—"

Melanie laughed. "I never said I couldn't handle it."

Martin shrugged again. "Yeah, so you say."

Tim tried to look appalled at Martin's behavior but was actually trying to hide his smile at Martin's…persuasion tactics.

"Alright, fine," Melanie snapped. "I'll come back with you. If only to _prove_ that I can handle her food better than either of you."

Half-way there it dawned on Melanie, and she looked over at Martin and asked, "Is that why the minifridge is filled with so much milk?"

* * *

Unfortunately for Melanie, she grossly overestimated her ability to handle spice and underestimated how much Basira spiced her food. She desperately tried not to let it show, though. She knew that either way, her pride was going to be bruised, after making such a bold declaration to Martin and Tim in the café, but she was going to at least _try_ and keep some of it intact.

So she swallowed the molten magma before silently standing and going over to the fridge. (At this point, it was nearly bursting with milk now. Tim and Martin had stuffed the cartons inside like a game of Tetris, so if you didn't put the carton back just so, the fridge wouldn't close.) She brought one out and set it on the counter before reaching into cupboard for a mug to pour it in. By now, her face had turned completely red and her tongue was burning so badly, she had to breathe through her mouth (but quietly, so as not to let the others know just how badly she was suffering).

Melanie poured herself a glass of milk and quickly downed it. It did nothing to soothe the burn on her tongue, down her throat, or in her stomach. And after a moment of contemplation, she put the mug in the sink before drinking straight from the carton. When she felt okay enough to face her coworkers again, she turned to see Martin and Tim quickly straighten from their silent giggles, stupid smiles on their faces, eyes filled with laughter.

Jon was turned away, hiding his face with his hair and one of his hands, but Melanie could see how his shoulders shook. Basira was the only one who wasn't shaking with laughter, but like Jon, she was holding her hand over her mouth, head low, eyes filled with unshed tears.

Melanie was never going to live this down.

* * *

"Who holds a _mandatory_ potluck?" Melanie exclaimed, throwing her phone down on the table before picking her fork back up to stab angrily at her salad. "Elias is such a bastard."

They were all currently sitting in the common office space for lunch—Jon, Tim, Martin, Basira, Melanie, and even Daisy had joined them this afternoon. It'd taken a little convincing on Basira's part, considering Daisy's trust in Jon, or lack thereof. But after hearing Basira talk about how they'd _bonded_ over food, she supposed there were worse things. She was slowly warming up to Jon, the more they talked over lunch, but she'd never tell _him_ that.

Tim had been right in that having lunch, altogether like this, did make things feel just a tiny bit more normal for Melanie. So she'd decided that it wouldn't be so bad, hanging out with them for lunch. It certainly hadn't stopped her from trying to kill Elias, anyway.

They all had their phones out, scanning over the weekly staff memo.

"It says it'll be held right down here," Tim said, squinting at his screen. "How tacky." He set his phone back down and turned back to his food.

"Is he _allowed_ to make something like this mandatory?" Martin asked, shaking his head. "That doesn't seem…right."

No one answered. No one really knew _how_ to answer.

"Oh, at the bottom," Basira said. "It says we have to respond with what we're bringing by tomorrow evening."

"Well that's easy," Melanie said, stabbing a cherry tomato. "I'll bring plates, napkins, and utensils. I can't cook to save my fucking life."

They continued to chat about what everyone would bring the rest of the lunch break, occasionally throwing insults directed toward Elias and grumbling about this "mandatory" potluck.

The email had also detailed that it was to "build trust and the relationships between everyone, and to welcome the new archival staff!" as if he hadn't coerced the newest members to the archives into joining. Bastard.

* * *

They'd set up two folding tables in the middle of the common office space, with those cheap, plastic table "cloths" thrown over it. It was green and currently held: kadhi, a spicy, thick gravy with vegetable fritters (pakoras) and rice on the side, courtesy of Jon; spicy chicken lahori curry, courtesy of Basira; spaghetti and meatballs, courtesy of Tim, and a meat pie and a delicious-looking apple frushie, which was basically an apple tart made with shortcrust pastry and flavored with rose water and honey (with whiskey-infused cream on the side, just to be decadent), both courtesy of Martin; a platter of cold cuts and crackers, store-bought, courtesy of Elias who, after an attempt to cook something and nearly setting his kitchen on fire, decided it would be easier to buy something. At one end were the plastic plates, cups, utensils, and napkins, courtesy of Melanie. And at the other were drinks, both alcoholic and nonalcoholic, courtesy of Daisy.

It was a bit awkward, with Elias being there. The rest of them had bonded, of course, but no one really trusted Elias. Thankfully, everyone had the excuse of chewing instead of talking. Mostly.

Jon, who had politely taken some of Tim and Martin's food, sidled over to Basira while the others filled up their own plates and chatted quietly. She was waiting for everyone else to finish but had grabbed a drink.

"It doesn't taste like anything, Basira," Jon mumbled, sounding like he was going to burst into tears at any moment. "It smells like it's been spiced. But it doesn't taste like anything. How is that possible?"

Basira glanced down at Jon's plate in sympathy. "Tim or Martin's?" she asked.

"Tim's," Jon sighed. "But Martin's isn't much better. It's watery. I can taste a hint of pepper. It's kind of sweet."

Basira snorted. "Then why did you take it?"

"To be a nice boss," Jon muttered, causing Basira to chuckle. He'd taken small portions, but even that was too much. His brain was telling him there was food, but his taste buds tasted nothing.

"Glad I'm not boss, then," Basira said, snickering into her cup.

Meanwhile at the table, Melanie was loading the chicken lahori onto her plate, following by a tiny bit of Tim and Martin's food, much to Martin's concern.

"I thought you'd avoid Basira's stuff," Martin couldn't help but comment.

"It's not for me," Melanie smiled at him without humor as she scooped another spoonful of chicken lohori onto the plate.

Martin's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Then who—?" he started but was cut off when Melanie shoved the plate his way.

"Give this to Elias for me, will you?" she asked.

"What? Why? Why _me_?" he asked taking the plate because Melanie hadn't given him any other option.

"Remember when you told me, Basira, and Daisy about when Elias tried Jon's food?" Melanie asked, to answer one of his questions.

"Okay, but why _me_?"

"He trusts you, Martin," Melanie answered. "If I tried to give it to him he would reject it."

Martin glanced down at the plate he was still holding. "He's not going to trust me after this!"

"Do you really care if he does?" Melanie shot back.

Martin considered this. "Fair point."

"So you'll give it to him?"

Martin nodded before grabbing a fork, a napkin, and then heading over to Elias, who was sipping his drink, standing back and letting the others get their plates first.

"Here, I…I got this for you, Elias," Martin said, holding out the plate Melanie had given him.

"Oh, thank you, Martin," Elias said, setting his cup down on the desk next to him. "That was kind of you."

Martin fought back laughter as he smiled and said, "No problem." He quickly made his way back to the table to get his own plate but made sure that he was facing Elias so he could discretely look up and watch Elias's reaction. The others had begun paying attention as soon as they'd seen Martin approach Elias.

As soon as the chicken lahori hit Elias's tongue, his mouth ignited in fire, somehow worse than he remembered Jon's own food being. He glanced at the others, quickly weighing his options but coming to the horrible realization that he couldn't just walk out like last time. So, with great effort he chewed what he could and swallowed. By that time, his face had gone completely red. His eyes were watering so much it looked like he was about to cry. He could feel sweat bead on his forehead and the back of his neck.

Elias's eyes darted toward the minifridge he knew contained all the milk he'd ever need but a quick sweep of the room told him they were watching him, discretely, but watching him nonetheless. (And if they snickered, Elias didn't hear any of them because his ears were ringing so loud as the heat continued to consume him.) And he couldn't show any of them weakness. Not after his whole "I saw you coming; I can have you arrested or you can work for me" speech. They'd never take him seriously again! They'd never truly _fear_ him if he gave in to, of all things, some heavily spiced food.

He couldn't let his reputation go down in flames, even if it felt like he was physically standing in them.

Instead, he calmly (or tried to calmly, seeing as his hand was subtly shaking) set the plate down and cleared his throat—which, bad idea on his part—before managing, in an extremely hoarse voice, "If you'll excuse me."

As much as he tried to calmly exit the archives at a causal pace, it was clear to everyone watching that he was practically power-walking to the exit.

* * *

Jon was the first to break the silence. A laugh escaped his lips before he could stop it but when everyone turned to look at him, he had his head bowed, one hand covering his mouth. His hair covering his eyes. His free arm was wrapped around his stomach and he shook with silent laughter. This time, though, he wasn't sure if he'd be able to make it back to his office before he completely lost it. And the longer he tried to hold it, the more he laughed. Until he couldn't hold it back anymore.

Jon removed the hand at his mouth and used it to lean up against the desk he was standing next to for support as he doubled over with laughter.

It wasn't long before everyone had joined in, howling and guffawing with laughter, not caring if Elias returned to find them all hunched over and breathless they were laughing so hard. Stomachs cramped. People wheezed for air. Tears filled eyes. It was the hardest any of them had laughed in a long time and it felt _good_.

Just when they thought they'd gotten it under control, Jon got a text, which sent him into another small fit of laughter. Unable to read it out loud without laughing more, he slid it over to Basira to read. She handed it to Daisy next, unable to read it out loud either. And so they passed Jon's phone to each other, each snickering too much to read it for the others.

From Elias (who was labeled as Elias "Bastard" Bouchard in Jon's phone):  
> I'm afraid something has come up that I have to attend to immediately. I won't be returning for the rest of the potluck.  
> Enjoy the food without me.

**Author's Note:**

>  _Bonus:_  
>  **Elias:** *groaning with his head face-down on his desk, a glass of milk sitting next to his head*  
>  **Peter *appears*:** Isn't it a little early to be drinking…what? A White Russian, Elias?  
>  **Elias *lifts his head and glares at Peter*:** It's just milk, Peter.  
>  **Peter:**  
>  **Elias:** Melanie tried to kill me again.  
>  **Peter:** Looks like she almost succeeded this time.  
>  **Elias:** Don't sound so amused.  
>  **Peter:** I don't recall…milk being a remedy for poison, however.  
>  **Elias:** I don't want to talk about this right now, Peter. *picks up glass and takes another drink of milk*  
>  **Peter:** What, your Beholder didn't let you know, Elias?  
>  **Elias *glares at Peter again*:** It's not called that, and you know it.  
> *Peter gives Elias a shit-eating grin as Elias glares back*  
> –  
> I have one more idea for this series. (May have more? Who knows?) This next one will probably be shorter, though. Much like my other crack series, I'm just going with the flow, so length will vary.
> 
> reblog this one-shot on tumblr [here](https://awayofunderstandingit.tumblr.com/post/619306244621172736/one-shot-call-the-police-and-the-fireman)
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoyed! Comments are much appreciated ^_^
> 
> Thank you for reading,  
> TheBrightestNight


End file.
